Laurie Grant - Maggie And The Maverick

He looked at her, sensing she hated begging, and momentarily savored being in the position of having her plead to him to take her on. And then he saw the pain and the fear deep within those green eyes, and he was ashamed of himself.

“All right, Miss Harper, I’d be willing to employ you for a trial issue, and after that we’ll see, is that understood? If I find I can’t get along with you, you’ll leave?” He didn’t believe for a moment her claim that she would depart without any hard feelings, not with that red hair and those fiery green eyes, or the way she had of raising her chin in the air. There’d be hard feelings, all right, if he told her he couldn’t work with her. If she stayed, he knew as sure as he was standing there he’d be apt to spend a good deal of his time clashing with this opinionated, bold woman who was surely no lady. He’d have to make certain she knew who was boss. But he wanted to start up his paper and report this story, and if that meant putting up with this Yankee woman at least temporarily, then that was the sacrifice he’d have to make.

“Sweeney, can I count on you not to blab this story all over town, at least until the paper comes out tomorrow morning?”

“Why sure, Mr. Devlin,” the telegrapher said, goggleeyed. “It’s a deal, as long as you’ll give me one of the first papers, hot off the press!”

“Does that mean you’ll give me a chance, Mr. Devlin?” Margaret Harper asked in an excited voice. She extended her hand, evidently expecting him to shake it to seal the deal. “You won’t be sorry, sir, I promise you.”

Garrick was sure he would be sorry, but it was too late now. Bemused, he had just taken her hand in his when the bell over the door tinkled and a familiar voice cried, “Papa, look! We brung your dinner!”

Maggie whirled around and beheld a little boy dragging a covered basket through the door. Behind him followed a sturdily built Mexican woman with salt-and-pepper hair, her face amused at the child’s efforts.

The boy was beautiful, his blue eyes—the same piercing blue as Devlin’s, she noted absently—shining as he brought the basket to the man he’d called “Papa.” So Garrick Devlin was a father. Who was the mother of this beautiful child? Surely not the Mexican woman?

“You said you would not be back teel supper, Senor Devlin, and Johnny, he worries that you weel get hungry,” the Mexican woman said with a smile. “We pack you a peekneek, yes?”

Maggie saw Devlin’s face, set in harshly suspicious and disapproving lines when he looked at her, transform as if by magic as he gazed at his son. He took a couple of awkward steps forward, leaning on the cane, and clumsily knelt down in front of the boy as if he had totally forgotten Maggie’s presence.

“Thank you very much, Johnny, that was extremely kind of you,” she heard him say. “But I’m afraid dinner is going to have to wait awhile. Right now, I need to follow Mr. Sweeney down to the telegraph office so I can find out some more things about a big story I need to write for the newspaper.”

The boy’s face fell. “But I wanted to eat with you, Papa! Jovita packed a lot of food…”

Devlin looked distressed, but said, “Johnny, I just can’t eat right now. I know you don’t understand, but I need to do something else. Perhaps we could have a picnic tomorrow?”

“Mr. Devlin, if I may suggest…” Maggie began. She saw him frown at her, but rushed right on. “Why not go down to the telegraph office and wire for the details you need, and we can get your picnic ready for you? Then, while you’re waiting for a reply, you can come back and eat with your son. Isn’t that a good idea?” she said with an encouraging smile.

His glare told her in no uncertain terms what he thought of her volunteering her opinion the way she had, but just then Johnny piped up. “Papa, who’s the pretty lady? She talks funny, don’t she, Papa?”

“Doesn’t she,” Devlin corrected. “But it’s not polite to say so. This is Miss Margaret Harper, Johnny and Jovita. She—” Maggie saw him struggle to appear calm as he made the announcement “—is about to begin a probationary period as my printer.”

Maggie saw a flicker of surprise light the onyx depths of the Mexican woman’s eyes, to be replaced by a twinkle of amusement. “Welcome, Senorita Harper. And you are right—Senor Devlin should do as you say about the peekneek. Andele, Senor Devlin,” she said, making shooing motions. “We will have the dinner all ready by the time you come back. Do not worry, there is plenty for your new employee, too.”

Johnny stared at his father anxiously.

Maggie could tell Garrick Devlin liked nothing less than to be told what to do by a woman, any woman, but for some reason he did not reprove Jovita.

“All right,” he said in a deceptively agreeable voice, smiling at his son as the boy crowed with glee. Then Devlin’s eyes fixed on Maggie, promising trouble, as he spoke to the telegraph operator. “Sweeney, go on ahead and I’ll join you in a moment.” He paused, waiting for the man to walk out of earshot before saying, “Miss Harper, come outside with me for a moment, will you? I have some instructions to give you before I go down to the telegraph office.”

She nodded and followed him out the door.

He did not pause until he was several yards away from the newspaper office, and did not even look behind him to see if she was following. She could only watch the awkward, stiff-legged gait his artificial limb forced on him until he turned around and faced her.

“Miss Harper, if you’re going to work for me, there had better never be a repetition of what you just did,” he growled.

“What I just did?” she echoed, trying to think of how best to defend herself, without losing either her job or her self-respect.

“Don’t play the fool with me, woman—I don’t employ fools. You know exactly what I’m referring to,” he snarled. “I’m talking about your meddling back there. I know meddling comes as natural to you Yankees as breathing, but if you wish to remain here you’ll keep your Northern nose out of my business, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” She ground out the words, and watched as he mumbled something and kept walking.

Damn the man! He hadn’t even allowed her the courtesy of presenting her side! She had wanted to explain to him, to say, “I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t bear to see the boy disappointed, and you would have to wait for a reply in any case, so why not sit down and eat with your child?”

Clenching her gloved fists at her sides in frustration, she turned and stalked back to the newspaper office.

Jovita was just spreading out a tablecloth on the large table at the back of the office when Maggie returned. The boy was capering about, and when Maggie entered, he jumped up and down and crowed, “We’re gonna have a picnic! Me an’ Papa an’ Jovita an’ the pretty lady!”

“Yes, you are, niño,” Jovita said, smiling at him. “Why don’t you watch at the window for your papa and let us know if he comes while Senorita Harper and I spread out the food?”

It was a good way to keep the child from dropping any of the dishes or the jar of lemonade, Maggie thought, as Johnny went obediently to the window to watch down the street in the direction his father had gone.

“Please, call me Maggie,” she told the Mexican woman as she went forward to assist her at the table. She saw fried chicken, biscuits, a bowl of black-eyed peas and a peach pie.

“All right, Maggie,” Jovita said, her smile warming.

“So the señor who writes to Meester Devlin is really a senorita,” she said. “Eet is a good joke, no?”